SlavesofMistressDespoiler (25 page)

With a scowl of endurance he whimpered and strained to keep his fingers interlocked, his knuckles going white as he weathered the unbearable ordeal of having his member bent unnaturally and returned into its stringent confines.

Spitefully leaning upon the bulge to make him gurgle in suffering, she marched softly from the room and deserted him to the night.

Praying for his sex to hurry up and wilt, he held his position, trying to find some way to gain slack and ease his discomfort, but it was useless. He wanted to pull the aching rod of hardened flesh free, but dared not disobey again.

The door opened and Mistress Despoiler paraded in. Immediately she bend his arms around, using the technique a police officer might use to handcuff a suspect, yet the manacles that captured his limbs were far different, and the position she enforced was far less comfortable and much more immobilising. Restored once more to the contorted position against the head of the bed, he waited to see what justice she was to mete out to him.

With his body once more helpless before her, his wishes were temporarily granted as she reached in and dragged his member free with rough motions. A gloss fist closed about his shaft, squeezing tightly, making his breathing quicken. With a steady shuffle she started to restore life to the flagging member, his penis growing in her callous grasp. She started to behave more roughly, pumping with harsh strokes, making him wriggle and wince with the mistreatment she was visiting, mixing his pleasure with pain. Her hand dove up and down as a blur of movement, making him fight to keep quiet against the escalation of suffering until without warning she stopped, leaving him on the verge of climax, aching for new release.

Cord wound tightly around the base of his genitals, tightening with several loops before reaching about his testicles, tightening and making them swell, the skin stretched to erase every wrinkle as they bulged with strain. The cord moved around his penis, lacing tightly up the shaft in a criss-cross pattern before tying at the tip and reaching along the mattress and over the end of the bed. A leaden weight was affixed to it and left to dangle, racking him terribly. Choking upon pursed lips, he could do nothing in his plight as she looked over what she had inflicted.

“Think on what you have done, and why this is being brought about to you, slave. These lessons will continue until you are properly obedient,” she decreed, and after setting up her rules for his perusal, she again left him to pained isolation.

Squirming in his bondage, he was powerless to shed the strangling cords stretching his groin out, making him suffer, stopping him from even hoping to gain sleep.

Chapter Fourteen

Lynn stood in her stockings, suspenders and bra, her feet slipped into white ankle boots, the laced fronts ending prematurely, leaving the two holes at the top free so that a small padlock might seal them to her. The identical set of stout leather bonds were also locked to her, enclosing wrist, ankle and throat.

The Mistress stomped in, having changed once more into a new outfit. A moulded latex dress clung across her delectable physique, the oval cups holding her breasts, the sides flinging slender straps over her shoulders. The corseted torso of the dress hugged in at her sides before dropping into a short skirt, the material taut around her thighs. Fishnet tights rolled down and under her knee high boots, while her arms remained lost beneath the opera gloves of their earlier session. She still wore her cap, and in her hand she held the leash, and the curled serpentine folds of the bullwhip.

Lynn did not move as the woman approached and then began a slow circle of her slave, examining her, looking licentiously across her slender body.

Without commentary she snapped the leash into place and drew Lynn forward, heading upstairs and into the main bedroom.

“Lay face down on the bed, slave,” the Mistress stated, letting Lynn have the slack required to crawl onto the double bed, the frame pulled out from the wall, creating space so that she might move all around it unhindered and have access to Lynn from any angle.

Moving into the centre, Lynn lay down, her rear raised, her head lowering onto the pillow as she wondered what was going to be done to her.

The Mistress flipped the leash over the end of the bed and pulled it taut, locking it upon a hidden eyelet beneath.

Rope reached out and caught her cuffs, lopping around the nearest bedpost, dragging her arms out and pulling them wide. The same lengths reached under the bed and curled around the posts at the bottom before grabbing her fetters. Her legs were forced into an extreme split, exposing her in full and denying her any access to the knots that might free her.

Spread-eagled on the bed, she observed in silence as the Mistress removed the pink ball gag and wandered over.

“Open your mouth, slave,” she commanded, and as Lynn parted her lips, the wide ball was forced in and the strap buckled tightly about her head.

“There, now I’m going to give you a few strokes of the paddle for spitting out your previous gag, and then I’m going to leave you to think on what you’ve done for a while,” she decreed, and retrieved a weapon from the row of implements hanging on hooks. The leather paddle was shaped in the form of cat silhouette, three holes in the head representing eyes and nose/mouth. Flicking the twin sharp prongs of its ears, the Mistress stroked her implement and then sat on the bed beside the helplessly bound slave girl.

Lynn pushed her face into the quilts, closing her eyes as she readied to feel the wrath of the broad paddle.

A dull tone rung against the air before a sharp smack echoed, the instrument coating a whole cheek. Her weals were less than pleased with the application of more punishment, and the bruises ignited afresh. Lynn howled into her gag, lines of drool sliding from her bottom lip as she cast her head back, her long hair flying up and landing about her shoulders.

Another smack rang out as the other cheek was tormented, forcing her to tense and haul at her fixings, the ropes and bonds secure, immovable, keeping her still and exposed to her chastisement.

Again the paddle fell, and again, having Lynn gurgle and splutter, the gag distorting her cries.

“Two more on each cheek, slave, and we shall deem you corrected for your failure,” pronounced the Mistress, and slammed a harsh stroke across a buttock.

Lynn dropped her face into the soft material, smothering the shrill cry that poured around the gag. Again she was struck, keeping her face there, refusing to lift up else her scream roll through the air in all its piercing clarity.

Two more, she told herself, two more and she would be purged of her sins.

The penultimate stroke brought tears to her eyes, the impact fuelling a more distinct ache in her rear. The last fell with full force, catching her at the join between upper thigh and buttock, these utmost tender regions having her break into a sobbing fit, breathing erratically, dragging herself through a long strain of enduring the distress, waiting for it to dwindle.

“There, all done,” announced the Mistress, gently rubbing the assaulted flesh as she set aside the paddle.

Lynn fell into a stolid pose, every muscle relaxing as she breathed deeply, sighing from extreme relief.

The Mistress arose, and true to her words, turned off the light and left her to her isolation, laying in the dark, thinking on what she had done, and why she had been punished for it.

Lynn also dwelt on the slave in the next room, bound and tied just as she was. She was already planning to punish him again, plotting the acts she would inflict on him the next time she had the opportunity.

The long period of her loneliness was uncertain, for without a clock, without clue to the world outside because it was night, she had no real idea how long it was before the door opened again.

To her shock, three sets of footfalls casually prowled in. She turned to see, and was blinded as the light suddenly jumped on, dazzling her gloom dependant eyes, making her close them and get used to the light before slowly squinting and fighting to see what was going on.

Of all the things she expected to see, what she beheld was far from anything she could have predicted.

The Mistress sauntered aside and leant to the wall, monitoring Lynn’s angst at the sight of her unannounced guests.

The man was tall, his body toned from expert use, of dedicating himself to creating a stern physique that did not swell into the travesty of a body builder’s mutated anatomical farce. His countenance was handsome but stern, his eyes seeming lifeless, but with a skulking intensity that wove behind this impassive first impression. His head was shaven to the scalp save for a woven plait at his crown. The black braids and strands were fixed with beads of tungsten, the long ragged cascade falling down to his waist.

Bands of the same material were set in his ears, and a necklace of the metal hung about his neck. He wore a mesh top, with several bangles of metal and studded leather encircling his wrists.

Laced leather trousers were held with a studded belt, and heavy boots with numerous buckles and ornate lacing covered his feet.

The man clutched a large leather case in one hand and in the other he held a lead, the chain links reaching back to the collar of the female behind him. She was young and astoundingly comely, a beauty queen turned into a slave, and Lynn was amazed at how she was seeing someone of such radiance for real instead of just in aloof fashion magazines. A person of such pulchritude had no business existing in reality, only in carefully managed and doctored photographs.

The woman had a mane of curling red hair, the vibrant red striking and shimmering in the light of the room. The detailed spirals fell about her features, almost hiding the gold band fitting snugly around her neck, drooping a jewel of fire opal at the front.

The manicured and perfected nails on feet and hands were coloured the same as her gem, and other than this token adornment, she was completely naked, every other inch of her shaven to a silken smoothness.

Lynn almost felt intimidated by the sight of her, of someone so much more alluring than she. What was she compared to such a specimen?

“Slave, I would like to introduce you to some friends of mine. This is Grand Duke Tungsten, and this is Fire Opal,” she stated, waving to each of them as she spoke. The man gave a token nod of acknowledgement to her, and the girl merely continued to look across Lynn with a ravenous hunger.

“This is the slave I was telling you about,” she added.

“Has she been fully trained yet?” he asked, his voice a growling bestial sound, grating its way free of his throat. It was bloated with severity, filled with power, the accent clearly American. Was this a friend of the Mistress from abroad?

“No, not yet, we’re just starting out. I’ll know soon enough if she’s worthy.”

“Really, the amount of effort you go to. It’s absurd,” he added, putting down the case and throwing its latches. Opening it up, he removed a slender cane, the bamboo pale, like ivory.

“Everyone has their individual ways. I enjoy the subterfuge,” stated the Mistress, putting the paddle back and taking her own cane down from those on offer.

“But England? Are you sure you couldn’t have found somewhere a bit further?” he commented with sarcasm, and then looked to the woman before pointing to Lynn.

“After that fine specimen Duke Silver snagged from this island? I just had to continue fishing for myself.”

The sultry beauty strolled forward, her lithe body shifting like satin, her grace matching her beauty in full. The woman knelt between Lynn’s splayed legs, causing the eyes of the bound slave to widen in fright, intimidated and scared as to what was going to happen.

The cool flesh of the woman lowered and laid atop Lynn. Her naked breasts settled on her shoulders, the nipples distinct into her back. Her legs remained together, and her arms reached under Lynn’s armpits before looping up to cradle her, using the rounded joints as handholds.

Lynn’s breathing was rapid and vexed, the red springs of her companion’s hair falling about her vision as the stranger kissed her neck, nuzzling in to comfort her, as though she could feel the distress seeping through her frame.

“What about this other one? The male? Does he know what’s going on?” stated the Grand Duke, and there was a whistle of air and a sound thwack. The woman atop her stiffened and gasped softly under her breath, tightening her hold on Lynn’s shoulders.

“Not yet. But he will. He’ll be staying mine though. This little flower on the other hand? Well, we’ll see what can be done,” said the Mistress, and applied her own pernicious hack into the woman, making her vent a tiny whimpering pip.

“You think she’ll accept?” he said, and applied a new stroke to his slave.

Lynn could not believe how erotic she found the scenario. She had been frightened by the sudden arrival of these strangers, but now she had this beautiful slave clutching her as she suffered under the lash. Each time they spoke, they took their turn in slamming a new stroke into the hapless slave girl, who withstood the assault with only the slightest signals of duress, her training extensive, her obedience total.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. If not, I’ll keep her all to myself.”

“That would be a little selfish.”

“The Sect’s loss is my gain.”

“Aldridge’ll go ape-shit if he finds out about the male.”